When Natalie was about six weeks old, we were at the grocery store on a Sunday afternoon. She was snoozing in her infant seat and I was browsing the avocados when one of the store's employees peered into her carrier and smiled.
"I can't remember that," he told me.
"Remember what?"
"That. My daughter is 18 months old, and I can't remember her being that age at all."
I smiled and gave him a canned response: "They grow up too fast."
But later I thought about what he'd said, and realized how frighteningly true those words were for me, too. Natalie was my third child, and no matter how hard I thought about it, I could remember very little about my two-year-old's babyhood. I mean, I could remember how much she weighed at birth, I could remember that we had nursing difficulties, that she had acid reflux, that she would "army crawl" and that she could say "elbow" when she was 11 months old, but I was just remembering the facts. The feelings were all gone--that feeling of holding a newborn, of hearing those funny little sounds newborns make, the experience of seeing your baby roll over for the first time--all those things were gone. I could remember the facts but not the details, not the things that really mattered. Why?
None of my other life experiences were like that. I can vividly remember sitting on the battlements of Dolwyddelan Castle in North Wales, I can remember what it felt like to touch the names on the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington D.C., and I have very strong recollections of exploring the Tower of London. And all those things happened many years before I had my children, and they were far less significant to me.
Maybe it's because as parents, we live for the moment every single day. When we travel, we do it for short periods of time and we file those memories away when we return home, to be revisited during duller moments. But as parents, every day is a new experience. Every day is something to be cherished. We don't file those memories away because we are so busy making new ones.
Your children will always exist for you in the moment. I love my two year old because she is my funny, chubby faced little girl who likes to walk on her toes and laughs the most wonderful belly laugh. When I look at her I just can't imagine her being anything other than what she is right now, at this moment.
That's why I write everything down. Everything. Everything my kids do, everything they say, every funny little mannerism they have. I take pictures. Lots of pictures. I journal and I take video.
If those memories are going to escape me, they aren't going to get far.
"I can't remember that," he told me.
"Remember what?"
"That. My daughter is 18 months old, and I can't remember her being that age at all."
I smiled and gave him a canned response: "They grow up too fast."
But later I thought about what he'd said, and realized how frighteningly true those words were for me, too. Natalie was my third child, and no matter how hard I thought about it, I could remember very little about my two-year-old's babyhood. I mean, I could remember how much she weighed at birth, I could remember that we had nursing difficulties, that she had acid reflux, that she would "army crawl" and that she could say "elbow" when she was 11 months old, but I was just remembering the facts. The feelings were all gone--that feeling of holding a newborn, of hearing those funny little sounds newborns make, the experience of seeing your baby roll over for the first time--all those things were gone. I could remember the facts but not the details, not the things that really mattered. Why?
None of my other life experiences were like that. I can vividly remember sitting on the battlements of Dolwyddelan Castle in North Wales, I can remember what it felt like to touch the names on the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington D.C., and I have very strong recollections of exploring the Tower of London. And all those things happened many years before I had my children, and they were far less significant to me.
Maybe it's because as parents, we live for the moment every single day. When we travel, we do it for short periods of time and we file those memories away when we return home, to be revisited during duller moments. But as parents, every day is a new experience. Every day is something to be cherished. We don't file those memories away because we are so busy making new ones.
Your children will always exist for you in the moment. I love my two year old because she is my funny, chubby faced little girl who likes to walk on her toes and laughs the most wonderful belly laugh. When I look at her I just can't imagine her being anything other than what she is right now, at this moment.
That's why I write everything down. Everything. Everything my kids do, everything they say, every funny little mannerism they have. I take pictures. Lots of pictures. I journal and I take video.
If those memories are going to escape me, they aren't going to get far.
